Lighter Than Air
by Lady of Sandwiches
Summary: Ch1: There is glitter in his stitches. Ch2: He runs on the hope that he can keep going until he can't anymore. And then, suddenly, he can't anymore. Ch3: He feels weightless when he decides to stop looking. Postlude to 7x23 *SEE PROFILE FOR MORE INFO*
1. Chapter 1

Jess had once said that glitter was like herpes: rapidly spreading with contact and nearly impossible to get rid of. Sam is inclined to believe her. It's in his hair, on his clothes, all over his side of the Impala, and some of it's gotten into the stitches on his hand, and he's trying very hard to not to scratch it. Dean promises that he'll clean it as soon as they get to the motel.

There is silence in the car, and then Lucifer whispers in his ear. "Aw, Sammy, you should have told me about your thing with clowns. Just think - a whole new can of worms, forever unopened." Sam rubs at his ear, dislodging a clump of glitter behind the shell.

He has the sudden, irrational urge to grab the wheel from Dean, turn the car around, and run over the clown doll he threw away until it is a glittery smear on the pavement. He can see it now - instead flowing down the nearest pipeline, the glitter would float away, dissipating into the night wind. Or maybe - _if it bleeds you can kill it_ - it would bleed away slowly, a rainbow sludge oozing away until there was nothing but bits of dried white skin and red hair.

Sam can feel Lucifer's hands in his hair. The glitter doesn't come out. He shifts uncomfortably and looks out the window. Dean glances at him, then turns back to the road.

_What if you salted and burnt a clown corpse_, he wonders, trying so hard to distract himself. He remembers that burning leather is blue, so maybe clowns would burn rainbows, colorful smoke that smells like cotton candy rising in a perfect spiral towards the sky.

Lucifer's breath is on his neck, warm and damp -

_and it's hot and it's cold and either way it burns his skin peeling off slowly cell by cell piece by piece until he thinks he'll go insane and there's smoke in his eyes and mouth and lungs and he can't breathe the poisonous air so he can scream and Lucifer is there and Michael and poor unfortunate innocent guilty-by-blood Adam and everyone is fighting each other teeth ripping and nail clawing and kicking and punching and tearing each other apart and there's blood in his hair dripping into his eyes and -_

Sam thumbs his scar. Lucifer retreats.

"You okay?" Dean asks, not missing a beat.

"Yeah." _No_


	2. Chapter 2

It occurs to him, at some point between his seventh cup of coffee and a constant flow of Led Zeppelin that only he can hear, that if he died, he probably wouldn't wake up. It's not an Earth-shattering revelation, there's no fanfare and fireworks, just a quiet realization while his brother drives an unfamiliar car.

It's funny that he has to remind himself that he can go to sleep and never wake up. Normal people don't need to do that. Normal people live and die only once.

Sam is afraid to attempt suicide. Not because he's scared of death. After Cold Oaks, the reapers in Greybull, their trip into Matrix-Heaven, well, he's afraid of waking up again. Suicide is the last hope of a desperate man, and even that option was taken away from him. Besides, they say that suicides go to Hell. Sam knows that he's no longer in the cage - probably - and he's not entirely keen on going back. And then there's Dean. His brother has given everything for Sam, so he has to give everything for his brother. It's the Winchester way, self-sacrifice for a moment's peace. Dean wants him to be okay so badly; he can't bring himself to shatter that illusion.

So he ignores Lucifer as best he can, consumes enough caffeine to make his heart stop, and runs on the hope that he can keep going until he can't anymore.

And then, suddenly, he can't anymore.

Frank's most likely dead and the Leviathans are curing cancer and he hasn't slept properly in over two weeks and his body hurts and nothing makes sense anymore. His whole world is a mess, was a mess, will always be a mess, he comes to understand, and he doesn't want any part of it anymore. He's defeated the devil, suffered in the blackest part of the Pit - he's done enough.

Lucifer waits until Dean leaves their motel room before starting his new diatribe. "Man. He looks tired, don't you think?" And dammit all, he _does_ look tired. He's tired and sad and hurting, and he hasn't been the same since Cas walked into that lake. Frank, Bobby, Cas - Sam is his only pillar left, and he is rapidly disintegrating.

Dean has said that they keep each other human. Sam traitorously starts to think that he was better off with only Castiel. "Probably," the devil concurs, leaning against the wall casually, "they had that 'more profound bond' or whatever. Sounded like they didn't really need you." He struts around to the other side of Sam's bed, sitting down and leaning against him. Sam can feel the weight of him against his back, and he feels sick, he wants to cry, he's done his time, he doesn't deserve any of this, and he would have been okay if it weren't for - "And anyway," Lucifer says, smugly, "didn't Cas do this to you? Knock down the Great Wall of Sam for a bargaining chip?" Sam shakes his head, unwilling to open his mouth, in case he vomits. "Pretty sure he did, bunk buddy."

He shakes his head again, desperately trying to quell the old thought that Cas didn't like him, never cared about him, only saw him as a tool for Heaven and Hell, and the older thought that Dean would be so much better off without Sam's baggage weighing him down. "It's true, Sammy," the devil whispers in his ear, and it hurts because _the devil doesn't lie._

And this devil only speaks the truth that Sam is too afraid to face.

He pinches himself, the sharp jolt of pain waking him up for another five minutes. Lucifer starts humming. Again.

Sam vows, right then and there on that lumpy motel mattress, to overcome the devil, for good this time. Pain and coffee aren't working, so he'll just have to stoop to more drastic measures. He thinks of Ruby's blood, and reminds himself that this isn't the first time he's done something stupid to save someone he loves.

Sam's a smart guy. He'll figure something out.


	3. Chapter 3

_What am I supposed to do?_

What am I supposed to do now?

_Keep fighting._

I can't.

_Take care of my wheels._

I can't.

_Sam, remember what Dad taught you, ok?_

Don't you fucking say that to me, Dad's not here, hasn't been here for years, it's just you, it's always you and now you're-

_And remember what I taught you._

But you're gone! You're gone, you left me, and he's still here, his voice is still in my head and I can't-

(it's all dark in his mind, blacker than ash, blacker than death, blacker than the shadow of an angel's wing covering his eyes and his mouth and slowly suffocating him until)

(he feels weightless when he decides to stop looking)

* * *

><p>an: And that's it. Done. Finito. No more. I wash my hands of this.


End file.
